


The Little Things

by RicsChaos



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RicsChaos/pseuds/RicsChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana takes a chance and writes a song for Rachel to tell her that she loves her.</p>
<p>Inspired by this prompt: # Quinn plays piano, and she learns Santana plays guitar, together they write music and play only for each other until Rachel hears a song they wrote, a song Santana wrote…about Rachel, about how Santana is so freaking in love with her.<br/>(Santana Anthology)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waywardcherry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardcherry/gifts).



> For Lils

 

„Who is this?“ The voice on the other side of the door demanded.  
„I know you are looking through the spyhole, Britt!”

Santana pursed her lips and waited, but the door remained shut. She let out a sigh and replied eventually in a sour voice: “It’s Santana.”

The door swung open and a happy, smiling Brittany flung her arms around her neck.

“Ahh! Don’t break my neck,” she gasped, patting Brittany’s back as she tried to stable herself with the other hand at the doorframe. After Brittany let go and let her through the door, she was able to find breath and words again. “How have you been? Enjoyed your holiday?”

“It was great fun,” Brittany smiled from ear to ear and Santana enjoyed seeing her so happy. “I missed you though.”

“Are you abandoning me already?” Another voice spoke from the direction of the bathroom. One second later, Quinn’s head appeared in the doorframe. Her wet hair was wrapped in a towel, and she only wore a pair of shorts and a sleeveless top. She approached Brittany and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Don’t cheat on me with Santana, please?”

Santana snorted, moving past Brittany who now leaned into Quinn in response and captured her lips with hers. Thinking that it could take a while for them to break apart, Santana threw her guitar bag off her shoulders in the living room and went for the fridge to get a drink. She had been here almost every day in the past three weeks and gotten quite used to the place. She also had gotten used to having Quinn for her own and it stung just a little so see them all over each other again.  While Brittany had been on holiday with her parents, Santana had Quinn’s attention to herself, and they had spent it with writing and practising their songs together.

“Guys? Is there any more orange juice?” she yelled back into the hallway, glancing at her friends, but they were still occupied and against the wall. “Oh never mind, just join me when you’re done!” she snapped and shoved the empty carton in the small paper bin next to the desk. It was too big for it, so she forced it in. Grumbling she threw herself onto the sofa and began to unpack her instrument. She could have left it here yesterday, but she wanted to practice more at home. The result was that she had played all night and wasn’t able to stop. Music was all she cared for, as she had nothing else to really care for. The tiredness of playing all night made her eyes heavy.

  
“Sorry, sorry,” Quinn came hurrying back into the living room with another carton of orange juice and some crackers. Brittany followed her behind, crawling onto the comfy pillows in the corner with a magazine. She loved listening to their songs and was curious on what the two had accomplished during her absence; but she didn’t want to intrude into their session, so she just sat and listened, flicking through the paper. 

“Ah, it’s fine, Fabray, you know… one day I will get my revenge.”

“What do you mean?” Quinn scrunched her face, moving around the table to plug in her electronic piano. Santana smirked at her.

“One day I will have someone to cuddle and kiss too and I will never stop making out when you are around. I will make you so uncomfortable in front of others; you wished you’d never known me.”

“Try me,” Quinn laughed, waving Santana’s threat off as if it was a joke. But then she narrowed her eyebrows. “Do you have anyone in mind though?”  The question came surprising, almost startled Santana. Brittany looked up from her magazine, intrigued to hear, if she was interested in someone at the moment.  Santana shrugged her shoulders, and then shook her head.  But her thoughts lingered on this one girl for a while; the one she used to watch in the coffee shop down the road. She was perfect, gorgeous, and probably intelligent, too. If she had to pick someone to be with, it would be her. But the sad reality was that she hadn’t even looked at her once, and was technically a complete stranger to her. Santana had never dared to ask her for her number or her name, even though she considered this every day.

“We should go out more,” Brittany suggested smiling. “There are a hundred million people living in New York. There has to be someone who wants to be with you, Santana. I mean, Quinn and I love you, obviously, and you are really hot, but I don’t know if we are ready for a threesome relationship.” Santana blushed, and Quinn used the opportunity to roll her eyes at her girlfriend who winked back playfully.

“Thanks,” Santana muttered, “but can we start making music now?”

 

* * *

 

 

Whenever Santana played the guitar it felt like a dive into another world, so far from the grey and boring real life she was used to. Her world, the world of notes and tunes and chords was full of colours and harmony. When her fingers grazed over the strings gently, lightning the room with soft acoustic sounds, it was like a river flowing; reassuring and gentle, carrying her and embracing her. She felt safe, and she felt whole. They said music was the key to the soul, but it was so much more than that. Music was the heart of the soul, the engine which kept one running whenever the power to set yourself into motion was too weak. Where spoken words only just covered the gaps and holes in Santana’s heart; a melody was like healing liquid that filled up the cracks and soothed it from inside. A song was like a poem carried by a sentimentally that went straight to the heart; the words lingered in your head while the melody pulsed in your blood through your body. Music and sadness and happiness seemed to be so closely entwined for Santana, but whenever she was overall happy, she wasn’t feeling particularly up for music and her creativity to write and play songs lowered down a little. The urge to listen and to play songs seemed to be connected to some type of melancholy that accompanied her life like a beautiful but peaceful sadness.

 

_How many roads will I walk,_

_Until I find you?_

_How many songs will I write,_

_To find myself._

_We look back and think, was it all worth_

_The things we chose,_

_What if we'd taken different directions?_

_Would we be the same?_

_I'll take you home tonight_

_When the lights go out_

_When the darkness covers us up_

_Still, silent beauty_

_Beautiful silence_

_Hold me in your arms._

 

* * *

 

 

They were quite pleased with their session today. The effort of the last couple of days had seemed to finally pay off.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Quinn smiled when they sat all at the table, relaxing together with a cup of tea or coffee.

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

Santana wondered what in hell it could be, that Quinn was keeping silent for two hours. Smiling, Quinn pulled out a piece of paper from the drawer behind her and put it in front of Santana on the table. In big capital letters it read: _Flannagan’s Irish Pub_. Santana stared at it, not getting it.

“I know that this pub exists, Quinn, we’ve been there a couple of time.” But then the coin dropped. “Oh my god! The gig! Did we get it?”

Quinn nodded, chuckling. Her hand brushed absently over Brittany’s scalp and along her neck. The dancer had her head buried in her arms and she had her eyes closed, enjoying the soft caressing of her girlfriend’s hands.

“That’s awesome Quinn. When is it?”

“In two weeks.”

“Excellent!”

Santana’s mood lightened a lot as she left Quinn a few  minutes later, her guitar bag hugged to her chest and the flyer in hand. She was looking forward to this. The opportunity for playing a little concert came at a perfect time. A perfect opportunity to promote themselves a little, and to share the love of music with others. This was the other great thing about making music. Having the opportunity to share it was like giving them a piece of your own soul. The power of music was strong if it was played for yourself; it was even stronger if it was played for someone else as well. But besides that, Santana just really loved the Pub atmosphere. It had something rustic, something easy but fiery. Two weeks were too long and she couldn’t wait.

 

* * *

 

 

She entered the café at exactly 15:25 to start her shift in time; 30 minutes until she hoped to see her, the girl without name. She would come in with confident steps, order her coffee and sit down by the table at the window, like every other day. It would take Santana 3 minutes to deliver her a perfect coffee, which would leave the girl 11 minutes to drink it before she headed off to another appointment, and it gave Santana the chance the watch her from behind the counter.  It was crazy and it was trite and sometimes Santana wondered why she liked to look and swoon over strangers like her. This was not the first girl she had found herself being attached to, but she was by far the prettiest girl amongst them. Maybe it happened because escaping into the world of fantasy was so much easier than having a realistic view of the world.  Plus, her fantasy was untouchable; nobody could destroy the bubble she carried her head in. Everything was bright there, and everything was perfect. Nothing was impossible in her world of imagination.  It would always stay an imagination because deep down she knew, that this girl she longed to see would never even see Santana as something other than a normal stupid coffee barista, who treated her like every other barista. She knew that, and because of that, it was somewhat safe to crush on her. It was safe because she knew that this was hopeless, even though she wished it was not. At 16:00 she began to get nervous. She was never late. Never. This girl had an extraordinary sense for punctuality. And she always seemed busy, and it was as if she wanted her coffee as fast as possible because she knew she had another appointment 15 minutes later. But she never forced down her drink, she enjoyed it slowly, which made her unique in the place the café was located. Right between two subway stations and a business street, people would rarely have a quiet cup of coffee. Most of them would take their drinks in takeaway cups, but this girl insisted getting a porcelain cup. She valued coffee, and her time.  Santana liked that. She wished she could just sit next to her, enjoy a coffee together with her. That would be so nice.

The girl without name showed up 16:05, five minutes late, and only having 7 minutes of precious coffee time left, if you subtracted the preparation time. Santana shoved Sam, the male barista, out of the way when she saw her red coat appearing in the doorway.

“Hey!” He protested, but she just swept past to the counter to be the one taking the order.

“Hi,” Santana said, but the woman didn’t look at her. She was already half on her favourite seat, the 2-seat table by the window, before she had spoken out her order. But Santana remembered what she had ordered the other day.

“One Cappuccino with chocolate sprinkles?”  she offered, smiling, trying to catch a glimpse into her chocolate brown eyes. She had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Before she saw her, she thought she only had a thing for blue eyes and not for ones like her own, but god! They were so mesmerizing. She could almost hear the soft noise when her long lashes shut and opened. If only she would look at her once. She would die, but it would be happiest death she could imagine. _No_. The second happiest. The happiest would be, if only she could hold Santana’ s hand the way she wrapped her fingers around her coffee. Those small, but perfect shaped hands... Imagining what else those fingers were able to do, let little fireworks spark up in Santana’s tummy. Those feelings... They were all imagination.

The sudden confusion over what Santana had just said washed over her face, and in the split of a second her body froze and her eyes were on Santana’s. It was a tiny moment, probably not even half a breath long until she caught herself, remembering that she went to this place four times a week and that it was possible for baristas to have a long term memory. She dropped her eyes and said: “Yes, please.” In the next second she had taken place at the table and fumbled around with her phone.

“What was this elbow for?” Sam was by her side, looking irritated and trying to follow her gaze.

“What?” she turned around. She totally forgot how she had run him over. “Oh, you were just in the way.” Sam pursed his lips, made them bigger than they already were.

“I’m making her the cappuccino.”

“No, I do it!” She took a step forward to block his way and almost knocked him backwards again. Hastily she grabbed the cup from the shelf and began to prepare the drink. When she was done pouring the soft thick foam over the espresso shot she put her best effort in sprinkling chocolate flakes on top. She wanted it to not only look decent, she wanted it to be the best chocolate sprinkle cappuccino the world would ever see.  She would perfect it until one day it would be as smashing that the girl would look up to her and tell her that the cappuccino was as beautiful as the woman who created it. Oh yes. And Santana would shake her head smiling and tell her that a cappuccino could just be as beautiful as the person who drank it. The girl without name would be so smitten, that she would invite her for a private coffee with her. Her insides were dancing against her stomach wall as she imagined what could happen after they had their drink together.

“Hello? Can I have a coffee?” Santana forced herself out of her little daydream. Customers stood queued up in the shop, impatiently demanding drinks. There was no time for dreams now. She set a mini cupcake next to the plate and hurried to bring it to the girl. 7 minutes remaining to drink it. Too little time to enjoy a perfect coffee…

“There you go,” she said, setting the drink before her with a smile. The woman looked up, but again, not really. Instead she kind of nodded and said thank you, in a polite but firm voice. Santana walked off to give Sam a hand, but her thoughts lingered at the girl with the long, brown curls. She must be round about her age, too. The way she was dressed and left the café in a hurry told Santana that she was certainly blessed with a better job. Wouldn’t that be a great romance? The career woman and the lazy barista with the passion of playing guitar? She rolled her eyes at herself because these thoughts just had the most inappropriate timing. “Next one, please? What can I get you?”

 

When the clock ticked 16:15, the girl packed her phone away, grabbed her bag and went to the counter to pay. Santana took the cup from her which she had kindly brought back with her. Santana liked that. Not half of the customers were like that. They just left their crap at the table.

“That was an excellent cupcake,” she said, looking down at the counter, pulling out her purse. “How much is it together with the coffee?”

“Oh, the cake is on the house,” Santana replied. The girl squint her eyes, looking up at her cheeks, not into her eyes.

“Really? Thank you,” her voice like music in her ears. The perfect harmony. Not too high, not too low. Right in between sweet and raspy, and it made her body unable to decide between having goose bumps or hot showers.

“That um… makes $7 please.”

She handed her a tenner.  Santana pulled the change out and considered for a second. Should she do it? Should she? Should she be brave?

“Here is your change and…” she placed the flyer on the counter. “I’ll be playing in this pub on the 23rd this month. If you are interested…”

The girl hesitated, and then took the flyer.

“Um… I mean, I’m just promoting myself a little, so don’t see it as a personal invitation.”

Now she looked up, right into her eyes; her look was neither sharp nor questioning; it was just a simple look, neutral, maybe a little curious, but Santana felt like she pierced right through the soul. She felt like the girl was able to see everything that was written in Santana in this moment. Her tummy twisted awkwardly, and she swallowed.

“I mean I hope as many people possible will be there, so…”

“What do you play?”

“Guitar.”

“Oh that’s so nice.” She smiled at the counter. “Um...  well. I’ll keep it in mind.”

She presented her a smile and vanished in fast steps out of the door. Santana’s heart beat in her chest. What a complete and utter idiot she was. She was just asking her to come to a pub in a way that for some reason didn’t sound innocent at all. She wouldn’t be surprised, if the girl would stop coming to this café anymore.

“And I scared the next girl away,” she muttered and sighed. “Not that I’m not used to this.” Was she that socially awkward?

After this conversation, she couldn’t erase the girl from her mind at all anymore. She remembered the small look she had given her, only if it was just for a moment. She wallowed in this feeling of her stomach melting when she replayed it in her head.

 

It happened that she met her on shift a few times again, before the gig. Disappointed, she figured that everything was like nothing happened. She almost wished that she had ruined it all with her invitation, but having nothing accomplished at all -neither good nor bad- made her even sadder. It made her angry that she was feeling this way because, for god’s sake, why would she even think that her words would have any meaning to this girl? She probably forgot about this. It was one of the many things you just couldn’t consider when you had a busy lifestyle. It was not important to her.  She would probably prefer fancy clubs, instead of shabby Irish pubs.

Santana’s heart grew heavy. She couldn’t even explain to herself why exactly. This one smile, this eye contact they had was the best thing that ever happened to Santana.  It was the moment she fell for her entirely. It was still ridiculous to like someone you didn’t even really know. She knew nothing about her, not even her name. All she had was this one certain feeling; the feeling that she could be so perfect for her. She just knew it. It was intuition. Intuition was everything for Santana. Since she was a child she had gone by her guts, and they had never failed her.  But because life was life, and also because authority or parents told her to do certain things, she ended up doing things that were not even right for her. She decided wrong. Once for example, she had decided after school to go to cheerleading college. Her guts had told her otherwise, but she ignored them and so she had spent a little while more to figure out that she didn’t want it. New York and making music was a dream of hers and following that dream would be hard, but not impossible. Why did so many people throw away their dreams, just because the way would be a long and hard one? Wasn’t it always worth giving it a try? And wouldn’t it be a good decision after all to just try her luck with the girl without a name? Should she not ask her for her name? Would it not be a wasted chance, if she didn’t try? What was there to lose? She should just talk to the girl or give her Santana’s number. She seemed so nice.

“I’m a fucking coward,” Santana said to herself.  She threw the towel aside and took off her apron. It was her closing shift, which was usually to be done by one person. She locked the front door and packed away a rest of the stuff on the counter, counted the till and locked everything away in the safe. It was dark outside, but Santana didn’t feel like hurrying home. For a long time she didn’t even know what home was anymore. Britt and Quinn’s place was probably the next place to call home, apart from her family in Lima obviously, but it didn’t really count. They were so far away. It was not that Santana didn’t like her flat, but she wished someone would just be there to spend their time with her. She felt like playing music. After getting changed she sat down onto the seat by the window with her ukulele, the place her favourite customer would always sit.

 

_I met this girl in the café_

_She’s actually a customer of mine_

_She won’t notice me much_

_Always busy in her world_

_That’s okay because in my world she’s mine_

She was visible to the street and she had left the window ajar, but she didn’t care. Soon the air was filled with nothing but soft ukulele sounds.

 

* * *

Rachel

* * *

 

 

Rachel had a stressful day, just like almost every day. Working her ass off for NYADA academy was eating up more of her time than she thought. She was all ready for her job and it was her passion, no doubt there, but in some tiny moments of spare time, she wished she had more time to spend on things she really missed. Things, of which she wasn’t even aware that they would disappear after High School. Things like leisure, dating, movie nights with friends…  She had chosen the life she always wanted, being something like a star. There even had been a time when she had wanted to throw it all away for a relationship. Now she was caught in the other extreme: being so involved in her dream that there was not a lot of time for anything else. It had begun when tried to forget her past relationship, the one she wanted to give herself up for, and in the process of forgetting him, she had chosen more responsibilities on top of everything she already had. It made her feel good to be in business, getting attention without getting attached to someone. Since then, the heart ache was long gone, she stayed occupied with those things and enjoyed the spotlight much more than love. But long-term, this felt empty, too. Who did she do all this Broadway stuff for? Despite clapping managers and the pleased crowd, she had only herself to be proud of herself. Who would be there to pull her into her arms after work, whispering in her ear, that she was amazing? There was nobody to taking her hand and say, I believe in you. Instead of falling into someone’s arms, she fell just into pillow when she was tired of “functioning” for job and publicity. She missed being loved for not just her voice and her acting skills; she wanted someone to who just loved her for herself, Rachel, just a small person, vulnerable inside and satisfied with the little things.

On this one significant day, her time schedule was messed up completely when she had forgotten a whole folder of sheet music at her place that she was supposed to hand to her coach today. It couldn’t wait, so she had to run back and get it. This meant, she would miss tonight’s rehearsal, and everything would be screwed over. The sun was about to go down when Rachel stepped out of the subway station, the folder of paper this time safe under her arm.

 

_I love her brown hair and_

_How she sits by the window_

_Sipping her coffee_

_Not giving a fuck about the world around_

 

Rachel turned back and starred at the corner where she was absolutely sure she heard music. Her ears caught the sound of a fine, soft voice like she had never heard before. She was intrigued before she even noticed where the sounds came from. She followed the melody of sweet ukulele sounds and was surprised that it came from her favourite café, in which she used to sit during her breaks. She loved it there. They made the best coffee in the world. Better than Starbucks, better than everything. But she told nobody about it. It was like her own, secret, special place. She loved all those small things like discovering a place like this for herself.  It was something private, something unique. Nowadays even coffee places could be a mess of a hectic consider rewording. Wasn’t it much more enjoyable to sit all quiet and let the atmosphere settle in, coffee in hands and just enjoying the silence or reading a good story?

Carefully Rachel poked her head around the corner and spied through the glass window. It was dark inside. The only light brightening the place seemed to come from the streetlamp outside. But there was clearly someone in there as she could hear the voice. Wasn’t there a little silhouette sitting by the other window?  She didn’t even notice fact that the girls’ voice sang about a girl; so smitten was she by the passion and for some reason sadness, the song was sung with. Wait a minute. _Brown hair? Sits by the window?_ Her eyes widened when she recognised herself in the lyrics of the song.

 

_It’s just coffee and her_

_But I wished it was her and me_

_She is all I ever wanted_

_Oh why can’t she see_

_She is cute and so small_

_But her smile is not small at all_

_She is beautiful in every way_

_That’s all I can see_

 

This was not meant for her to hear. In the dusk of the night nobody noticed the blush that crept over her face. She wanted to get up and leave because it was just appropriate. This song, even if it was  sung for her, it wasn’t meant for her to hear now. She tried to move, but found her limbs to be numb as a heat flushed through her body that was unusual for a chilly spring night. The voice was pretty, and the song was beautiful. Nobody had ever written her a song. Something trickled down her cheeks. A tear of joy over the stunning emotion of the moment in which she realized, that there was someone who thought about her. Who sang this? She needed to know. The voice sounded familiar, like she knew it for ages without fully acknowledging it. The shadow of the musician on the bare chair was small; she could make out long hair, put together in a ponytail. Slim and skilled fingers stroke the strings gently. As gentle as her coffee tasted. It hit her.

_“That um… makes $7 please.”_

She could feel the baristas smile on her.

_“Oh, the cake is on the house.”_

She had looked up into her eyes, but didn’t actually see them. Now she wished she had given them more attention. The cupcakes, the wonderfully decorated cappuccino’s... Everything fell into place now. She had never thought about it, never even cared. She hadn’t noticed the sweet gestures the barista had given her. She had been cared for like she always imagined someone to care for her. And she had been too blind to see it. Up until now, when she heard the girl singing about her. What did her name tag say again? Something with S? Sar… San…? Rachel closed her eyes, tried to imagine her face. Frowning she had to admit that she had never really cared to look at her properly. Was she really that ignorant? All she had now was her voice, which mesmerized her even more. A voice that took hold of her deeply. And there was this sadness in it that broke her heart, a sadness tightly intertwined with hope that tore her heart out.

 

During her next visits in the café the barista seemed normal like always. Of course she did, Rachel told herself off, because it was not like she had officially proposed to her. She wasn’t even aware that Rachel had heard the song. Now she was actually paying attention, Rachel discovered that the dark haired girl looked really pretty. And she hadn’t noticed before. She was such a stupid idiot. Her name was Santana. She repeated the name by herself, feeling her stomach twist and turn as she let the name danced on her tongue. And without even realising it much, Rachel spent her hours thinking about her all the time, at work, in the café, on her way home. She began to order two small coffees instead of a large one, just to hear her voice one more time. More than anything it was her voice, that drew her in the most. She loved listening to it. At night she would remember all the words she had spoken with her the day, and fall asleep over the sound of it. But she didn’t dare to look at her, or speak to her. Should she? Wasn’t it the other girl who was interested in her? Why wouldn’t she come over and ask her herself? Was Rachel that scary that nobody wanted to risk speaking to her? It would be bad, if this was the case, because this was not who she was. She wasn’t scary, and she wasn’t even that busy, if she had a reason to get rid of a few jobs. As she dug through her bag to find money to pay, she accidentally pulled out the flyer Santana had given her. She had totally forgotten about this. What a perfect opportunity to hear her singing again. And a perfect chance to meet her off work. She decided to go.

 

* * *

 Santana

* * *

 

 

23th April, 20:46. Flannagan’s Irish Pub:

 

“How do I look?”

“Take the hairclip out, Quinn, you look fucking ridiculous.”

“But I like it!” Quinn protested.

“Then don’t ask me how you look!” Santana snapped back. The emotions were boiling a little, 10 minutes before their little concert at the Flannagan’s pub. They were both nervous, and both showed the tendency to be snappy when on the edge with their feelings. Santana wriggled from one foot to the other. They had everything set up at the little stage, having a last drink at the bar before they began. The pub was not crowded. Not yet.

“Come on,” Quinn said, putting her glass aside and pulled Santana down her chair. She picked up the guitar and held it out for Santana, who came behind her in small steps. She took it from her, patting her shoulder and turned around to the people.

“Hit it!” Brittany called from one of the chairs just in front of the stage.

“Hi!” Quinn greeted the room. “I am Quinn and this is Santana. It’s a pleasure to sing and play with you today!”

They began to play their songs and everything went alright. With every song, Santana felt herself relaxing more and more, giving herself into her element music; their music. They played a repertoire of some Irish jigs, a few song covers and a few of their original songs. The crowd liked it, and even clapped for encore after they had finished their last song. That was when Santana laid her guitar aside and grabbed her ukulele. Quinn threw her a questioning look.

“Well,” Santana said. “I have prepared something.”

“What?”” Quinn hissed, confused, scrunching her face.

“Yeah,“ Santana went on, ignoring Quinn. “It’s very personal.” She had no clue if the girl without name was there. She had not seen her so far. She was probably not there, not after she had embarrassed herself so much the other day. One reason more to not worry about playing this song now. But who knew. Even if she sat in one corner, drink in hand, and listening, Santana didn’t care anymore.

“I wrote this song for a girl I love. I don’t know if she’s here or not, but regardless. I need to get this off my chest. I sat there for hours every day, you know, thinking about how gorgeous she is, never having the courage to speak to her. But I kinda realised that you can never come far if you don’t take chances. Everything is worth a try. So this is for her. It’s called _The Little Things_. She began:

 

_I’ve got something to tell you_

_Something that I’ve never said_

_I’m sorry that it took so long to_

_Put up courage to commit_

_You are perfect to me_

_I love every single bit_

_You’re perfect all the way so this_

_Is why I say that’s it:_

_I don’t even know your name_

_But I wished that you were mine_

_You made my life complete_

_When you looked at me that one time…_

_I love your chocolate eyes_

_And the way you make me feel_

_The little things I love about you show me this is real_

_Tonight I take a chance_

_Tell you everything I know_

_Believe me, my love, this is true_

_And this is why I sing for you_

 

Quinn and Brittany both just stared at her with wide eyes, their mouths hung open as they had expected everything from Santana but this.

In the middle of the song, she suddenly noticed it, noticed her. She stood there, inconsuspiciously at the other end of the pub, looking up to Santana. For some odd reason, the crowd noticed it, or maybe they had followed Santana’s gaze. They parted, created a walkway between the two of them. Santana felt like her heart was jumping out of her chest. Nervousness let her voice crumble for a moment, but she caught herself and went on:

 

_You colour my world_

_You colour my time_

_Seeing you sets fire to my eyes_

_When everything around me falls to pieces_

_Your smile makes me strong_

_Sets over my fears_

_Your voice is like music in my ears_

_I’m in love with all the little things_

_I love you and all the little things_

 

She wasn’t sure how exactly it happened, but by the end of the song, all eyes were on her and the girl. Rachel blushed, as people were staring at her in the silence that the song had ended in. Her eyes were directly on Santana’s. She swallowed. What would happen now? Now she had said it. Sung it. The silence that now lay on them was terrifying. Then, slowly, Rachel stepped forward, carried by a tumult of the cheering crowd. Quinn hopped off the stage into the embracing arms of her girlfriend, leaving Santana alone on stage. Her heart sank when the girl without name approached her and grabbed Quinn’s mic.

“Hi, my name is Rachel Berry,” she said, half directed to the crowd.

Then she looked at Santana. Her eyes fixed hers and let hot and cold showers flush over Santana.

“Hi Rachel,” Santana whispered. She wasn’t the girl without name anymore. She was the girl with a beautiful name now.

“Kiss her!” Brittany yelled.

“Ah, shush Britt, “said Quinn, but the crowd already agreed yowling. Rachel was close to Santana, too close. Too close to let her function correctly. Her eyes were mesmerizing from the close distance.

“Is it true?” Rachel breathed. “Is all of what you sang true?”

“Every single bit,” croaked Santana. Her stomach still couldn’t decide, if it wanted to soar or drop, as Rachel’s intention were not readable to Santana. But then…

“Can I kiss you?”

A firework ignited in her, scorching her insides, making her knees wobbly like pudding. What this real?

“Don’t we need a date for that?” Santana managed to say, surprised that words were even building up in her.

“This isn’t a date? You invited me, remember?” The smile she was giving Santana made her whole body tremble and she could swear- it was bursting into fucking butterflies.

Well, she had a point. And besides, fuck dates. She asked to kiss her, and why the hell would she refuse? The people clapped and applauded as Rachel leaned on toe tips, reaching out to hold Santana’s head in her hands and pressed her lips on hers.

Under this kiss, sweeter than chocolate, and hotter than any coffee existing, Santana realised that this was even better than every fucking thought and fantasy the ever had. If she hadn’t taken the chance, how would she ever have discovered this? _Always take the chance_ , she told herself when Rachel felt so damn good in her arms and everyone clapped happily for them. Wherever they would go from here, she would hold on to her and never let go.

 

 

 


End file.
